


Surviving Bluebeard

by thedisgruntledone



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedisgruntledone/pseuds/thedisgruntledone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Will dragged himself and Hannibal over the bluff, he had no intention that either of them survive the fall. But he opens his eyes to find that he has. Now, he has to figure out how he's supposed to navigate his life in the aftermath, when it feels like half of him is missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Surviving Bluebeard

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for a prompt at the hannibal kink meme on dreamwidth. I went a bit left, as I tend to do. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please see the end notes for full prompt & spoilers.

Everything hurt. That was the first thing that he was truly aware of. He didn’t think that there was a single part of him that wasn’t in pain. He wanted to sink back into sleep, into oblivion, but the pain was too intense. He kept his eyes closed, however, and tried to remember what had happened.

He remembered going off of the cliff, and taking Hannibal with him. The elasticity of time had never been so apparent as in that last moment; it had both seemed to speed up and take forever. Will hadn’t looked, just kept his arms tight, tight, tight about Hannibal, his head buried in his neck, eyes closed. Hannibal’s arms had come about him in turn, and they had fallen into the sea like that, entwined.

He didn’t remember much beyond the fall. Flashes of swallowing salt water, of going under again and again, of waves dashing him into the side of the cliff were all he had to go with. He did not know how he had gotten to shore, or who had found him and taken him to the hospital. He didn’t know what had happened to Hannibal.

It’s was the last thought that set off the panic attack. His breathing grew short; he couldn’t seem to get enough air into his lungs. Hands were on him, trying to soothe, and he began to thrash against them. More hands joined the others on his body, trying to hold him down. He was aware that he was trying to speak, trying to yell out for him, but he couldn’t make his vocal chords work. He heard his name being called, but it was faint, far away. His eyes had flown at some point; they were taking in the scene around him in confused snapshots. A panicked nurse trying to keep his head still, others holding his arms and legs, another preparing to inject him with something. And just outside the room, observing everything with narrowed eyes and lips so thin that they’d almost disappeared was Jack Crawford. Will’s gaze met his and everything went still for just a moment. Long enough for the sedative that he’d been given to do its work. Will’s eyelids began to droop. He stared at Jack until he couldn’t keep his eyes open, lips still shaping themselves around Hannibal’s name even as he slipped back into unconsciousness.

The next time he woke was better. He still ached all over, but he didn’t dissolve into panic. Instead he cracked his eyes open a sliver, testing. The room was bright, and the light hurt his eyes. There was a blurry shape sitting next to him. He closed his eyes again.

“Ca-“ he started, then coughed. His throat was horribly dry. Something cool was pressed against his lips; an ice chip. Will sucked at it eagerly, then swallowed hard and tried again. “Can you turn off the light? It hurts my eyes.”

“One moment,” a soft voice replied. There were a couple of rustling noises, a click, and then, “try that, Mr. Graham.”

Will cautiously opened his eyes. The bright fluorescents had been turned off, the weak light filtering through the curtains the only bright spot in the room. “Thank you.”

The girl smiled. She was young, with light eyes and dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. For a moment her face shimmered, became someone else’s. Will blinked and the nurse was back.

“What happened?” he asked her, voice hoarse. “Did I – was someone else brought in with me?”

Her eyes widened slightly and she shook her head. “I don’t know. Let me get your doctor; he’ll be able to answer your questions. Do you want another ice chip before I go?”

Will shook his head. “No, I-“ he stopped. He was becoming more aware of his surroundings by the moment, and had just realized that he had been strapped down to the bed. “Why-?” he asked, tugging at the straps around his wrists and looking a question up at the nurse, who seemed to be getting more nervous by the moment.

“I’ll just go get the doctor now, Mr. Graham. One moment, okay?” And she practically fled out of the room.

Will raised an eyebrow at the closed door. His head was still pounding, but he found that it was ignorable. It was no worse than the headaches he used to get, after all. He had to think. What had happened after they had fallen from the cliff? He closed his eyes.

_They seemed to fall for ages; clinging to each other they plummeted towards the ocean. Will did not want to see his death coming to meet him. Instead he tightened his arms around Hannibal, buried his head in his neck and closed his eyes. One of Hannibal’s hands found its way into Will’s hair and he said something that Will did not catch, then they were hitting the frigid water_

_The rest came in flashes. Water all around him, a strong hand on his arm, half supporting, half forcing him to move. Slitting his eyes open on the shore, seeing Hannibal sprawled out next to him, lifeless, one hand still resting against Will’s arm where he’d dragged him to safety. Pain in his legs and chest. Waking more than once, thrashing and crying out. Attacking with arms and legs and finally teeth when his limbs were caught and held down. Mind a white, buzzing blank of mingled rage and terror._

Shuddering, Will opened his eyes. At least he knew why he’d been strapped down, and why his throat was so sore. He wondered if he’d been screaming for Hannibal aloud as he had in his head. Wondered if the other man had survived, or if he’d been captured or had managed to get away again.

The door opened and his doctor entered, followed closely by Jack Crawford.

“Good morning Mr. Graham. I am Dr. Leonard. How are you feeling?” the doctor asked, lips thin. He was not happy with Jack following him into the room. He had been fairly tight lipped about what exactly Will had done, but the doctor was a reader of Tattle Crime and knew his face. Even so, his first obligation was to his patient, and Jack was hindering that. No matter what it was that Will Graham had or hadn’t done, he needed to rest and recuperate, not be agitated by an aggressive FBI agent who asked questions that sounded more like commands and who had been watching him with narrowed, suspicious eyes pretty much since he’d been admitted.

Will felt a twinge of amusement, but was careful to keep it from showing. “Like I got ran over by a bus,” he answered. “What happened?”

“What happened?” Jack said before the doctor could open his mouth. “What happened is that you threw yourself off of a cliff. What the hell were you thinking?”  


The doctor clenched his jaw. “Agent Crawford,” he said in an irritated voice, “you will be able to ask your questions in due time. Please step out of the room and allow me to see to my patient.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded and stepped back. “My apologies, doctor.” He left the room stiffly but didn’t go far; Will could feel his gaze boring into him from the window. He deliberately kept his eyes on the Dr. Leonard.

“How bad is it?”

“It isn’t great, but it isn’t as bad as it could have been. You were brought in with a broken leg, two cracked ribs, minor cuts and contusions. A concussion. Stab wounds to the face and shoulder. It could have been much worse, considering the fall you took. You were lucky, Mr. Graham. “

Will raised his eyebrows slightly. Dr. Leonard gave him a wry smile. “It might not feel like it, but it’s true.. You’re going to have to take it easy for a while due to those ribs and your leg, but for the most part you should make a full recovery.”

“For the most part?”

“It’s possible that you might not regain full mobility in your shoulder.”

Will nodded, unsurprised. He had already noticed the weakness in his arm; had noticed it when fighting Dolarhyde and when in the ocean with Hannibal.

Hannibal.

“Was someone else brought in here with me?” he asked. “Someone just as beat up, maybe more?”

The doctor gave him an even look, then shook his head. “I think that is something that Agent Crawford wishes to discuss with you,” he said carefully, glancing out at Jack. “If you’re feeling up to it, I’ll send him in on my way out.”

Will doubted that anyone could keep Jack from entering the room once Dr. Leonard had left, but he appreciated the thought. “Might as well get it over with,” he agreed.

Jack was in the room almost before the good doctor had cleared it.

“What the hell were you thinking, Will?” he demanded again, fury coming off of him in waves. “We know that you spoke with Dolarhyde before coming back to Quantico; the security camera from your hotel caught him leaving your room. What was the plan, then? It sure as hell wasn’t what you told me and Alana.”

“The plan was to get Hannibal to a secure location and have Dolarhyde kill him. The plan was to take out at least one serial killer, two if I got lucky. The plan was exactly what we said it would be, I just didn’t have the finer details at the time. How did I get here, Jack? The last thing I really remember is going off of the cliff with Hannibal.”

“And what a brilliant idea that was.” Jack sighed and sat down heavily in the chair next to Will’s bed. “I guess congratulations are in order. If you intended for Hannibal to die going over that cliff, you succeeded.”

Will stared at Jack. “Hannibal’s dead?” he repeated through lips that had gone numb. His head began to buzz and his limbs went weak and watery. His stomach lurched and for a moment he felt like he might throw up. He pushed it all down and forced his face into neutrality. Jack was watching him closely and he couldn’t see how Hannibal’s death was affecting Will.

After a few more moments in which Jack studied Will’s face and Will did his best to give him nothing, he nodded. “Yes. The two of you washed up about a hundred feet from the cliff’s edge, half-drowned. We managed to revive you, but Hannibal died in the ambulance on the way here.” There was something in Jack’s voice that said they might not have tried all that hard to keep him alive. He clearly considered Hannibal’s death no great loss. The only regret that he might feel, Will well knew, was that he hadn’t been the one to kill Hannibal himself. But perhaps he was happy enough that Will had done it.

Will couldn’t match his obvious relief; he felt none. He swallowed hard, doing his best to control his breathing. “I suppose we can consider the plan a success, then.”

“I wouldn’t call it a success.”

“You wouldn’t? But you got exactly what you wanted, Jack. Dolarhyde and Hannibal both dead. Two serial killers taken out of the game permanently. No worry that either of them will escape justice now, is there?”

Jack gave him a flat look. “Eight officers were killed during your little stunt, all of them murdered by Francis Dolarhyde so that Hannibal Lecter could escape. Two vehicles were stolen, three more totaled. And you forget, we saw what you did to Dolarhyde. He sustained several wounds made by a knife and hatchet, respectively. He was gutted and his throat was torn out. We’re assuming that one was Hannibal.” Jack leaned forward. “The truth is, what the two of you did to him wasn’t self-defense. It was murder. The question is whether or not you’re going to be charged with anything.” He leaned back and shrugged. “Kade Purnell has it in for you, Will. She might want to see these charges stick.”

Will studied Jack’s face. He very much doubted if Kade Purnell was the only one who wanted Will to end up in a jail cell, but he said nothing. He was very close to losing his composure; all he wanted at the moment was to be able to get away into his head, where he could allow himself to feel Hannibal’s death without Jack’s prying eyes judging his reactions.

“Be sure to let me know when they do,” he said evenly, then turned his head, dismissing him. He did not hear Jack leave; did not know if he tossed any parting words Will’s way as he did. Will was already gone; in his mind he was in Hannibal’s office, sitting in the familiar chair, head buried in his hands as his body shook with the unexpected loss. A hand descended onto his shoulder. “Do you wish to talk about it, Will?” Hannibal asked, and Will shook his head, reaching up and clasping the hand in his own.

“No, not now, just be here. Stay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hannibal promised. They sat like that for a long time, even after Will finally gave into exhaustion and slept. He woke with red and swollen eyes, as though he had wept in the night.

~****~

What Will wanted, more than anything, was to be left to his misery, but he was not allowed that comfort. He was constantly being prodded and poked, asked how he was feeling and if they could get him anything, and when they left him alone he had to deal with certain intrepid tabloid journalists trying to sneak into his room, hoping to get another revealing picture, no doubt. Thankfully Freddie had been caught before she could take any more damaging photographs, and security measures had become stringent enough as a result that she had yet to find her way back in, though Will highly doubted it was for lack of trying.

He knew that he should be worried about what Kade Purnell was planning to do with his involvement in Dolarhyde’s death, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Part of it was the drug cocktail that he was on in order to manage the pain of his suicidal plunge off of the bluff – that made it hard to care about much – but quite a bit of it was the pain that had made room for itself inside of him after learning of Hannibal’s death.

Will was not deluding himself. He had not intended that Hannibal should survive the fall. He had not intended that either of them survive it. Yet he had, and he had not prepared for the way that it would feel to have Hannibal gone from the world while he was still walking around in it. He hadn’t known that it would hurt so very much to know that there was no chance that he would ever be able to see him again, even if it were only behind five very securely locked doors as well as a thick pane of glass. What did it matter if he wound up behind bars, when there was no way to get away from such intense grief?

He expected Purnell or one of her underlings to tell him of his fate, so he was quite surprised to wake up from a doze ( _and another dream of Hannibal, this one in Florence. Hannibal had always wanted to show him Florence, he’d said, looking happy, relaxed. “I want to show you the world, Will.”_ ) to find Jack sitting in the chair by his bed. Will stared, nonplussed, half wondering if he were still dreaming. But why would he dream about Jack?

“How are you feeling?” Jack asked, breaking the brief illusion. His gaze flicked over Will dismissively. “You look like shit.”

Will sighed. “Why are you here, Jack? “

“I can’t come by to visit an old friend?” Jack’s tone was aiming for jovial, but it wasn’t working. His eyes were hard as they considered him, and though he tried to smile, his mouth would barely turn up at the corners.

“We’re not friends. We haven’t been friends in a long time.” Will was far too tired to play along. He wanted Jack out of his room as badly as Jack wanted to go, and he didn’t see the point in wasting both of their time pretending otherwise. “Just tell me what you have to and then you can leave.”

“Fine by me.” He looked away from Will. “We’re not going to press charges. The FBI’s official position is that you are a hero for ridding the world of one of its most notorious serial killers. Congratulations.” It was said flatly, with little inflection. A muscle ticked in his jaw.

“And Dolarhyde?”

“He’s officially Hannibal’s kill. I’m afraid you’re only getting commendation for one murder this time.”

Will studied Jack’s face for a moment, then gave a harsh bark of laughter. “I take it that you had no part in this decision?”

Jack met Will’s disdainful gaze with his own furious one. “No. If it were up to me, you’d be locked in a cell. You set us up, Will. You set us up and because of you, a lot of good men died. Men who didn’t deserve it. You knew what you were doing, and you decided that the lives of those men weren’t important. You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.”

Will‘s good hand curled into a fist. The other was twitching madly. He clenched his jaw tight, tight, tight, fighting back the words that crowded behind his teeth. He took a deep breath, then another, trying to calm down and failing miserably.

Jack’s lip curled. The sneer broke the small bit of self-control that Will had been trying to keep.

“Look at you, sitting there in all your self-righteous fury. Pretending that you didn’t know what the stakes were. You can pretend to yourself that you didn’t know exactly what was going to happen to those good men you’re talking about, but I know better. The plan was weak, Jack, and everyone knew it. You most of all. Yet you agreed, because in your eyes, it was worth it to put an end to Dolarhyde. You sent us all off to die, pointed me like a weapon at Hannibal because you knew that I couldn’t let him live, couldn’t…you pointed me at him and I did your dirty work for you, and now you’re furious because I didn’t have the decency to die with him like I was supposed to. Well, you know what, Jack? I agree with you. I should have died. I _wanted_ to die. And yet here I am, having to live with the fact that I didn’t. So don’t you try to pin your guilt on me; I’ve got plenty of my own.”

Jack opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again. All at once he seemed to fold in on himself. Will noted the new gray in his hair, the added lines on his face, and was ashamed of his own outburst. They had all known what might happen, had all been aware of the stakes, and now they would all have to live with themselves. What was the point in tearing each other down?

“Look, Jack-“

Jack held up a hand. “You’re right,” he admitted wearily. “I want it to be your fault. I want to believe that I have learned to stop making the same mistakes.“ He rubbed at his forehead. “Just…tell me something, Will. Who are you more upset about dying? Those officers, or Hannibal?”

Will snorted. “I’m not sorry Hannibal’s dead, Jack.” _I’m sorry I lived._

Jack studied his face for a moment, then nodded. He left without another word.

Will turned on his side, ignoring the way that it pulled at his IV and made his hurt leg throb. He closed his eyes tightly against the sting of tears and focused on breathing.

A hand began to card through his hair lightly. “My poor boy,” Hannibal murmured. “You miss me dreadfully, don’t you?”

Will let out an amused huff. “Not answering that. Your massive ego doesn’t need any help.” He pushed his head back into the fingers, trying to get firmer contact.

“Ah, but you’ve already given me what I wanted.” _You always do, in the end_. The words went unsaid, but Will heard them, all the same. He frowned.

“I don’t always,” he argued, irritable. “If I always did what you wanted, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

The hand withdrew from his hair. “Point taken. Of course, first you fulfilled every wish I could have had for you. Which reminds me. I must thank you, my Will, for granting me that before you took my life. How many people can say that they died after a moment of perfect bliss?”

Will closed his eyes even more tightly and shook his head, ignoring the way that it made his head start to pound. “I don’t want to hear this.”

“If you wish me to be silent, all you need to do is send me away. I am the result of your psyche, after all. Tell me, Will, do you want to punish yourself for sending me to my death?”

“Shut up, shut up.” Will covered his ears, but he knew that it would do no good. The voice was in his head, after all, and it was relentless.

“Did you plan it from the beginning? Even as Francis told you he wanted to change me, to share, were you plotting both of our demise? Did you give me that one beautiful moment as a final, sweet goodbye? A way to send me quietly off into whatever waits for monsters like me?”

Will wrenched himself around to glare at Hannibal, moving too fast. His bad leg screamed, and the IV came out of his arm, but he barely noticed either of these things. He fixed his burning gaze on Hannibal, who was watching him with that same steady smirk that he always had, daring Will to answer him. Daring him to bare his soul.

“I was supposed to go too, dammit,” he said, the words scraping his throat raw. “I didn’t know what I was supposed to do; I can’t be like you Hannibal. It would be gorgeous, amazing. It would be everything. I would lose myself to it and finally become the monster you want to make of me, and then what? Kill Bedelia and gorge ourselves? Find Alana and kill her and everyone she loves? Run from the law and eat the rude and blur until we no longer have any sense of individual self? Or were you thinking that we would be _happy_? Could you really be so deluded as to believe that we wouldn’t kill each other in the end? Going off of that bluff was just…expediting the inevitable.” He ran a shaking hand over his face. “I was trying to save the last part of me that was human. Bedelia was right, though…it was far too late for that. Can’t live with you, can’t live without you. Except I have to now, don’t I? You’re dead, and here I am.” He shook his head, laughing quietly. “I guess the joke’s on me again.” He turned away from Hannibal. “Please go away,” he said softly, “I can’t do this right now.”

Hannibal made no answer, and when Will looked back over his shoulder, he was gone.

~****~

His next visitor was Molly. Will had known that the visit would be coming, and had dreaded it. She entered the room quietly, taking in the beat up state of his body without a word. She walked to the window and twitched the curtain back, staring down at the crowd milling around the front of the hospital.

“Hannibal Lecter’s death is the biggest thing to hit the news since his capture,” she started, not looking at him. “Even the big papers want to get a picture of you.” She tilted her head against the glass with a soft sigh. “Or an interview with your estranged wife.” Now she did look at him, a brief glance before looking down again. “They tried to sneak me in through the back, but it didn’t really work. They figured it out and swarmed the back, too. It was a mess.”

Will worked his jaw. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”

“They’re trying to decide whether or not to crucify you,” she said, allowing the blinds to fall back into place. She walked over to the ever present chair next to his bed and all but collapsed into it. “It all depends on how the FBI treats you. How I treat you.”

“I know.”

She nodded, still not looking at him. “Have you spoken to Jack?”

“Yesterday. It seems that the FBI isn’t interested in playing the blame game this time around. I guess they figure it doesn't matter anymore. Not when…” He couldn’t finish; couldn’t say it out loud. 

Molly bit her lip and tilted her head back slightly. Will saw the glint of tears in her eyes and looked away. 

“Good, that’s good. That’ll help. I don’t want them to go after you.”

Will gave a bitter laugh. “You can bet that Freddie Lounds has already started.”

“Yeah, probably. But who cares about her or her tabloid? It’s trash. If none of the other papers pick up on it then no one will care.” She finally met his eyes. “I want to help you, too. I do. But I…if it weren’t for Wally, it wouldn’t matter. But I can’t do that to him, Will. I can’t.”

“I know.” He hesitated, then reached out and took one of her hands, gently uncurling the fist that she had made with it. “I don’t expect you to.”

She gave him a tremulous smile, and the tears fell. “This would be so much easier if you weren’t being so understanding,” she said, sniffing a little. “I should be mad; I should be  _furious_. I’m not stupid, you know. I always knew that there was something…I never asked, because there are places in your mind you don’t want to share, and yeah, okay, I didn’t want to know. We were happy, and I thought I could live with it. But then Jack pulled you back, and all that changed.” She pulled her hand from his and wiped at her eyes. “We had a good life, right? We were happy.” 

Will clenched his jaw and nodded. “We were,” he agreed, voice soft.

“But we can’t be anymore.” It wasn’t a question. Molly sighed and stood. “I should go. I just wanted to see you, make sure you were doing better.” She gave a wry smile. “Wanted to ask you a question, too, but I don’t think that I’m up to it. Goodbye, Will. I hope that everything works out for you.” She shook her head. "It doesn't change anything, but I do love you, you know."

Will said nothing. He  _wanted_  to say the words back to her, wanted to give her that much, but his throat closed and he couldn’t bring himself to. Molly nodded as if she had expected as much. She took a deep breath. “If he’d lived,” she said haltingly, the words visibly hurting her, “and asked you to run with him, would you have done it?”

Will had to look away from the pain he saw in her face. “Yes,” he whispered, the word ripped out of him almost against his will. Selfishly, he wished that she hadn’t asked. Wished that he could have lied. But something in him had shattered when he’d learned of Hannibal’s death, and he found himself incapable of the denial that had served him so well in the past. Unable to do anything but ache, and yearn for what he no longer had any chance of having. Even if he had been able to bring himself to lie, Molly would have seen it. She knew him too well and he was too broken for her not to sense the lie, and she would hate him for it, even more than she would hate him for the truth.

Molly didn’t bother with a reply. The soft click of the door echoed loudly in Will’s ears, and it sounded like the final nail in the coffin of their relationship.

~****~

Just before he was released from the hospital, he received one more visitor. Alana stepped into the room as though she owned it, but the smile that she gave Will was the same as always, the one he’d loved from the moment he’d met her, before he’d known how wonderful she really was.

“I have a hard time fully believing that it’s finally over,” she told him. “I keep checking over my shoulder, sure that he’s going to be right behind me, telling me he always keeps his promises.” She shuddered.

Will gave her a half smile, ignoring the pain that her words caused to blossom in his chest. “He can’t keep that one,” he assured her.

“And I’m grateful for it,” she answered, giving him a wide smile of her own. “We’re not coming back – Margot loves Spain, and Morgan has been enrolled in school, so.”

“He’s old enough for school?”

Alana laughed. Will realized that he hadn’t seen her truly relaxed in so long he’d forgotten what it looked like on her. For the first time, he found it in himself to see past his own grief, and see the real good that had been achieved with Hannibal’s death. “He’s nearly four. Old enough to start learning in groups and socializing.”

“Wow, way to make me feel old.”

“You’re not old. You’ve still got plenty of life ahead of you.” Alana grinned at him. “We all do. Strange to think that we won’t have to look over our shoulders anymore, worrying that he’s there.” Her smile slowly faded as she regarded him. He looked away. Alana had always seen too much, far more than he wanted her to. He definitely didn’t want her to see his pained reaction to being reminded that he’d never have to worry about Hannibal Lecter again.

Her hand covered his. “I can’t pretend to understand what went on between the two of you,” she said softly. “I know that you got closer to him than any of us, and maybe in a way that makes him harder for you to lose. But this is a good thing, Will. We can all learn to live again, now.”

Will nodded, gave her a short smile. “I know that. It’s just easier to pretend he was different, when I don’t have him in front of me to berate me for my nostalgia.”

She shook her head. “You’ll remember. Trust me.” She bit her lip. “Have you thought about where you’ll go?”

“No. I guess my first stop is going to be the house, but I don’t know if I will stay there. I don’t think that Molly is going to want me around, and it’s her house, really. After that, I guess I’ll just have to figure it out as I go.”

“You could come to us, if you wanted.” Alana smiled. “Margot likes you well enough. And I think that Morgan would as well. We have a dog, even. Could be talked into getting another one.” She gave him a fondly amused look. “But we’d probably have to draw the line at three, max. I know that must hurt to hear, but any number over that is just too many for us.”

Will was startled to find that the laugh this got from him was genuine. “Only three?” he teased. “How could you possibly expect me to be satisfied with only three dogs?” He squeezed her hand. “Thank you for the offer, but I think it’s better if I go my own way for now. I can visit though; try to corrupt you into adopting all the strays in the neighborhood.”

Alana laughed with him and shook her head. “On second thought, you should probably stay here. Margot will kill me if I adopt more dogs.” She gave Will’s hand another squeeze and stood, leaning over the bed to wrap her arms around him in a hug. “Thank you, Will.”

Tears sprang to Will’s eyes. He hugged her back hard, burying his face in her neck. He couldn’t say he was happy Hannibal was dead, but he could be grateful that Alana and her family didn’t have to be afraid of him any longer. He blinked rapidly as she pulled back; he saw her note the tears and saw her deliberately choose to believe that they were from relief, not pain. Giving him a soft smile, she tilted her head and kissed him lightly on the mouth, before pulling back completely.

“I’ll keep in touch. Our door is always open to you, Will, if you change your mind.”

Will smiled his thanks, and she was gone. He wondered if he would ever see her again.

True to his word, the first thing that he did upon his release from the hospital was head back to the house that he’d shared with Molly. He half expected that he would find his family there, waiting for him, and when the taxi rolled up the long drive, he thought for a moment that he saw his dogs milling around in the front, Wally a laughing blur amongst them, while Molly watched fondly from the porch. He blinked and the vision disappeared. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that the snow around the place hadn’t been disturbed in some time, and that Molly’s old station wagon was missing.

Bracing himself, Will maneuvered himself out of the taxi. The crutches were unstable in the snow, and his leg throbbed, but he grit his teeth and ignored it. Three hours until his next pain pill. He would be fine until then.

“You want me to wait for you?” the driver asked, looking a bit concerned. “It doesn’t look like anyone’s home.”

“I didn’t expect anyone to be home. I’ll be fine, but thank you.” Will dug in his pockets for the fare, tipping generously, then waited for the taxi to disappear back down the drive before he began the very slow process of entering his home.

The keys still worked, and when he entered Will wondered if Molly had been back at all. There was a thin layer of dust coating everything, and the house smelled like it hadn’t been aired in weeks. Will knew, then, that Molly had come back long enough to pick up the car and some clothes before leaving again. He wasn’t entirely surprised. He already knew that he couldn’t stay there either.

His cell phone rang. Will knew who would be on the other line before he even looked at it; he supposed that old married couple telepathy was still in effect.

Molly put that thought to rest soon enough. “Mrs. Hennesey saw your taxi. She called me to warn me that we might have vandals.”

“Vandals in taxis?”

“Well off vandals.”

Will smiled into the phone. “Good thing we have Mrs. Hennesey here to warn us.”

“Exactly.” There was smile in Molly’s voice, too.

Will hesitated. “So I’m here, and you aren’t. Have you been back at all?”

“Briefly, to grab some things for me and Wally. We’ve been staying with my friend Becca, you know the one? She lives in the city.”

Will nodded into the phone without thinking about it. “Becca. Right.”

“She said she’d put us up until I could arrange things for the move.”

“Move? So you’re not…”

“We’re going to be staying with my parents for a while,” Molly said calmly. Will winced. Molly’s relationship with her parents had been strained for years. She had to be in a very bad way to be willing to move back in with them, even if it was only for a short time.

“The house-“

“The house is not an option,” she said. “I can’t live there anymore, and neither can Wally. I wanted to be strong, and get past what happened, you know? I didn’t want the house to be soured by one horrible thing that happened while we lived there. I could probably eventually get past it. I’d make myself. But it isn’t just that. I can’t live in that place and remember all the good times when they went so wrong. And Wally has nightmares. I can’t justify taking him back there when I don’t even feel safe.” She sighed. “Probably I’m doing the exact wrong thing, but I just can’t deal with it right now.”

Will was holding the phone so tightly that the casing started to creak. He forced himself to relax his hold. “I’m so sorry, Molly. I’m sorry that any of this happened to you. I’m sorry that you were dragged into my mess.”

“The next words out of your mouth better not be that you’re sorry we met, Will Graham. _I’m_ not sorry, and if I’m not, you don’t get to be. We were good for a long time, and the way it ended doesn’t change that.” She gave a small sniff. Will saw her in front of him, crying but doing her best to smile through it, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay, but he couldn’t give her that. Not anymore, if he ever really could. “If you aren’t planning on staying there, I think we should put the house up for sale,” she continued. “Split the profit fifty-fifty.”

“Molly, it’s your house.”

“My house that you helped pay the mortgage on. Stop trying to punish yourself on my behalf, Will. I just want to get all of this over with, so let’s make it nice and easy, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Will said quietly. He wanted Molly to hate him, wanted her to scream and shout and maybe throw things, but then she wouldn’t be the woman he had fallen in love with. He could hear all the unsaid things between them, and he regretted that he hadn’t been more honest with her from the beginning.

“I want to get some stuff before I go; just a few things. Sentimental stuff, mostly. I’m heading out there this weekend. I’d appreciate it if you weren’t around when I stopped by.”

“I won’t be.”

“Thank you.” There was a long pause, and Will thought she was going to hang up, but then she continued, “I put the dogs in the kennel while you were in the hospital. I can’t take them to my parents’, not all of them, but Wally wants Winston. I know that he’s yours, but-“

“He’s yours,” Will said quickly. “He likes Wally better than me, anyway. I’ll find homes for the other ones.”

“You won’t be taking any of them?” Molly asked, surprised. “You love those dogs.”

“I do, but I don’t even know where I’ll be going.” Will laughed without humor. “I don’t think I’d do a very good job of taking care of them right now anyway. Better that I find them somewhere they’ll be looked after.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

Will flinched at the concern in her voice. He didn’t deserve it. “I’ll be fine. Will you?”

She let out a wet sounding laugh. “Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then said in a rush, “But I don’t think that we should talk after this, if we can help it. It won’t do either of us any favors.”

Will nodded into the phone. “Okay.”

“Okay, good. Well, that’s settled. Goodbye, Will. Good luck.”

“Goodbye, Molly.” Will closed his eyes, keeping the phone pressed to his ear even after she had hung up. When he opened them, she was in front of him, dressed as always in jeans and jacket, her favorite boots on her feet and hair in a sloppy bun. “I’m so sorry,” he told her. “I’ll never be able to say it enough.”

She didn’t reply, and Will let out a shaky sigh. “Yeah,” he said, finally pulling the phone from his ear. “Right.” He took one last look around the place that he’d once called home, then turned away, leaning heavily on his cane as he left for the last time. There was nothing there for him any longer.

~****~

He thought at first that he would stay around the Virginia area, but soon enough changed his mind. He was too well known to be comfortable there any longer, and the cold weather made his mangled shoulder ache. He wasn’t in any state to find himself a decent place to live, so when the same real estate agent who had sold his and Molly’s house suggested a small property in Florida, he took it without so much as a cursory glance at the pictures she provided. It wasn’t as though he didn’t have the money, after all.

The first time he checked his bank statement after he got out of the hospital, he thought that there must be some mistake. He had received a small amount from the FBI when it’d come out that he’d been framed for the copycat murders years ago – a sort of ‘don’t sue us for fucking up’ that he’d been willing enough to accept even though the only person he’d blamed was Hannibal – and he’d used that to pay off the last of Molly’s mortgage when they’d married. There was no way that he should have enough to pay that five times over.

It didn’t take very long to figure out where the money had come from, however. He didn’t even need the call he made his bank to confirm it for him; he knew. He shook his head. “I don’t even want to know how you managed that,” he muttered to the man sitting in the chair across from him. “Or when you had the time.” He leaned back against the headboard in his hotel room, no longer worried about where he was going to get the money to pay for it until he figured out what he was going to do. He had more than enough.

“Yes, better that some of the mystery be kept alive,” Hannibal agreed. “I couldn’t leave you with nothing. I had no way of knowing if we would be able to leave the country together, and it was better that you have your own means of escape, should you need it.”

Will stared at him. “You wanted me to have a means of escape from you, you mean,” he said, knowing that his surprise was obvious but not caring.

Hannibal shrugged lightly, as though it didn’t matter, but he wouldn’t meet Will’s eyes. “I told you that my compassion for you was inconvenient.”

“You did.” Will agreed. He closed his eyes against the unwelcome sting of tears, aching. “I miss you,” he said painfully. “How can I miss you so much when you were so horrible for me?”

“We cannot predict who we love, or how that love will manifest itself. You thought that my death would free you from your love, and instead you have found that it has made it stronger.” There was a smug sort of amusement in Hannibal’s voice. Will bristled at it.

“I thought that _our_ deaths would make it so that love wouldn’t be an issue. Mine for you or yours for me,” he said through clenched teeth. “My one consolation is that I wasn’t the one walking around wearing my heart on my sleeve for the world to see.”

Hannibal laughed, delighted. “We both were,” he said. “Don’t think that you were fooling anybody with your ready-made family and your denial. Jack came at you armed with platitudes and pictures, but he knew that all he had to do was forward my letter and wait for you to receive it. Once one of us broke, our meeting was inevitable.”

“You broke first,” Will said quickly.

“Indeed.” The reply was soft, fond. He glanced at Hannibal, who was smiling at him almost adoringly. He looked away hastily, feeling his face heat up. “Would you believe me if I said that I was relieved, to be able to break at last? To have a reason to pull you back into my orbit.”

“Of course I would. You always did delight in demonstrating how easily you could take away any life I managed to create apart from you.” Will shook his head. “And yet I never could bring myself to really hate you for it.”

“Ah, now you are being dishonest,” Hannibal told him matter-of-factly. “You hated me. Don’t let my death soften your memories; it does us both a disservice.”

“I did hate you,” Will agreed. “But never quite enough, and that was really the problem, wasn’t it? You always loved me enough to destroy me, and I never hated you enough to return the favor.”

Hannibal inclined his head slightly, not necessarily in agreement, but conceding the argument to Will for the moment. “Where will you go now?” He asked curiously. “Is there anywhere that you can flee where you will be left in peace?”

“As if you want to leave me in peace,” Will snorted. “That was never your goal, not in all the time we knew each other.”

“My goal, as you put it, was only ever for you to become your true self. I don’t believe that you will find peace until you accept the truth of who you are. But that is not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant. You don’t have to worry about that; I’ve gone off the rails too many times for the FBI to want to work with me again, gift for monsters or not.” He tapped his head. “They’re too afraid one lives curled up here to want to bring me out in the field. They’d be happiest if I just faded quietly away.”

“Is that what you intend to do? Fade quietly away?”

“I don’t know what I intend to do.” He’d replied, and that had held true up until he found himself in Florida.

Yet even there he was at loose ends. The house he’d bought was near the beach, and so he managed to find work occasionally fixing boat motors, but the jobs weren’t steady, and he found himself more often than not on his own boat, doing his best to drown out his memories and the ache that never went away in bottle after bottle of whiskey. He would drink himself into a stupor and wake up the next day with an awful hangover and a mouth that tasted like something dead, ache present and accounted for, more miserable than he had been when he’d started drinking. But that never stopped him from trying the next night, and the night after, until time began to blur into one long bender.

He knew how badly he was slipping. He hardly left the house or his boat unless he had to buy more alcohol, his personal hygiene had become indifferent at best and he had lost too much weight. He knew how others saw him – the creepy bearded guy who was surrounded by the stench of whiskey and whose eyes held a yawning darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. And yet he couldn’t stop. He had well and truly broken.

Hannibal didn’t visit him anymore. He knew that it was because his mind was too soaked in booze to conjure him properly, but he couldn’t help but feel that even the apparition was disgusted; that he felt Will was unworthy of his time now that he’d become so pathetic. The real Hannibal had always liked him best when he fought, when he tossed his head in defiance and his eyes sparked a challenge. The drunken loser that he had become couldn’t be entertaining. The absence didn’t make things easier; if anything it made them worse. Will ached for Hannibal in a way that was almost physical, and berating himself for falling as far as he had didn’t help. The truth was that he was done. He had lost, and he was waiting to die.

He might have gotten his wish, if not for walking in to his normal liquor store one morning to be greeted by the familiar sight of police tape.

“What happened?” he asked one of the lookers-on. The man moved away from him slightly, nose wrinkling in distaste, but Will hardly noticed. All he could see was the body bag being zipped over the face of one of the checkout girls, the nicer one. He searched his bleary mind for her name.

“Checkout girl was strangled last night.”

“Becky,” he said, eyes on the body until it was out of sight. “Her name was Becky, and she was a grad student. Art History.”

The man looked at him askance. “Okay, yeah. Sure. Either way that’s the third one this month. I’m thinking maybe moving sounds like a good idea.” Will nodded absently and backed away from the scene. His hangover was all but forgotten in the wake of what he’d learned, and for the first time since arriving in Florida he wanted his mind clear.

He was careful. He didn’t want to show too much interest in the murders; there was enough negative attention focused on him as it was without adding to it. But he knew that by being quiet and listening, he could find out quite a bit, and he did. Three murders in less than a month, all of them pretty young girls, all of them working late. None of the security cameras working at the time of the murders themselves had managed to catch anything, there had been no customers, no suspicious activity. No evidence left behind.

Will was almost surprised at how easy it was to slip himself into the mindset of this killer. He was careful, meticulous. He would slip up eventually, most did, but right now he was enjoying what he was doing, and he had every intention of keeping it up until he was caught. He would get sloppy, Will could tell, but it could take several more murders for that to happen. He hadn’t yet come to crave it too much to be cautious. Will intended to catch him before that happened.  

“And then what will you do with him, I wonder.” Hannibal was back, and his eyes were alight with Will’s purpose.

“The stores are all small, locally owned businesses. Not one of them can afford to keep their system up and running all night; whoever has the last shift is trusted with turning off all the cameras aside from the front. It’s usually enough that the store looks like it’s being watched; most potential criminals are put off by the appearance of the cameras. I know this – why do I know this? I didn’t install the system – too obvious, but I know who did. It’s easy enough to get at his computer when he isn’t around – he trusts me. He shouldn’t. Once I have the feed downloaded to my own computer, I can watch. And I do. That is how I know when the girls are alone. I wait, patiently, until they end up on the last shift. Wait until I know the cameras have gone dark. And then I meet them in the back.”

Will shuddered. He didn’t want to go any farther; he’d gotten enough. “The police will have investigated whoever installed the cameras. We need to know who that is. We find him, we can find our killer.”

“Won’t the police have thought about that as well?”

Will nodded. “If they’re any good at their jobs, they have, but that won’t matter. The guy they’re talking to isn’t going to give his friend up. He’s awkward, self-conscious. He only has a couple of people he feels that he can talk to, and our guy is the best of them. He’s taken the time to make himself invaluable; he’s molded him into exactly what he needs.” He gave Hannibal a look. “Sounds familiar…”

“I may have tried to lead you to your becoming, dear boy, but the shape that you take I can have no hand in. You are ultimately a creation of your own making; you’ve resisted my design until the last.”

Will’s mouth twitched. “And I’ll resist it still. We aren’t eating him. And we’re not creating some fancy tableau for Jack to find that points straight back to me. We’re taking care of it cleanly.”

“As you say,” Hannibal said with a deferential tilt of the head…oh, but his eyes glittered as they looked at Will. _I can wait,_ those eyes seemed to say. _I have waited this long._

However, it was Will’s design that prevailed. When they found their killer – white, male, young but purposeful, conventionally attractive. Textbook, really – they made sure that they were waiting for him when he returned home in the evening. Will knocked him out, and then he put him in the plastic lined trunk of his car, going back to make sure that he had left nothing that could be traced back to him. The drive to the pier wasn’t long, and once he had verified that the coast was clear he slid the unresisting body out of his trunk. He slung one of his arms around his own neck, and made sure to shuffle their steps, just slightly. He was a well-known drunk; if anyone saw the two of them they would assume that they had both had a little too much and were looking to continue the party on the boat. Luck was on his side, however, and they saw no one.

Once the boat was out on the water, things became easier. They could afford to take their time. Will could cut where Hannibal told him to. When it was over, Will rinsed the mess off of the side of the boat the same way he rinsed the leavings of his fishing excursions. Disposal of the body was a concern. The last thing that Will needed was to have a body wash ashore so close to where he lived. He thought a moment, then started laughing. Hannibal smiled, shaking his head fondly.

“It was your idea first,” Will said, still half-laughing. “I’ll just make it a lot less obvious than you did.”

After, there was less amusement. “We can’t do that again,” Will told him, sitting on his boat and watching the sun go down. His fishing tackle sat next to him, pole secured to the side of the boat while the line bobbed and swayed gently with the motion of the sea. “It was too close; I can’t afford close, not right now. Maybe not ever.”

He wasn’t looking at Hannibal, but he saw the other man turn to face him, studying him in the dying light. “You aren’t saying you want to stop,” he said, as though Will weren’t perfectly aware of the fact.

Will shook his head. “That would be because I don’t want to stop. It was good; I want to do it again. But it has to be somewhere else. Somewhere that doesn’t point directly back to me.”

A hand reached out. Strong fingers cupped Will’s face, turned him so that he was forced to look directly at Hannibal. Will could have broken his grip if he’d wanted, but he didn’t. He allowed the touch, leaned into it when Hannibal’s thumb stroked along his cheek. “Wonderful Will,” Hannibal told him, voice barely above a whisper, “How beautiful you are like this.” His fingers dragged across Will’s face once, twice, before they released him.

Will closed his eyes. “I miss your touch,” he admitted, voice hushed. “If anyone had told me that I would miss the feeling of your hand on my face I never would have believed them. Even after you died I wouldn’t have. Now I think about it constantly.”

“Would you let me touch you if I were alive, Will? Would you give me leave to explore the way I’ve always wished?”

Will shuddered. “You know I would,” he whispered. Blood had pooled between his legs; he rocked with the motion of the boat and slid a hand over himself, rubbing gently. “I’d never-never thought about it before,” he said as he widened his legs and slid farther down in his seat, “not really, not even when you had me wrapped around your finger and I tried my best to return the favor. Even then, even when you kept putting your hands on me I thought that you were just…trying to train me. Praising and petting and – oh – trying to make me associate it with my more violent impulses. Not necessarily sexual at all, merely…positive reinforcement. But then, when Bedelia –“ he unzipped his pants and reached in to grab himself properly. He stroked lightly, imagining Hannibal doing the same. He wouldn’t let Will have what he wanted, he thought as he forced his hand to stay loose, despite the way it wanted to tighten. He would make Will work for it.

“What did Bedelia say, Will? What did she say to change your mind?”

“She-she said – oh, god – she said that you were in _love_ with me, that you – that you _hungered_ for me. And I saw – I _saw_ …” Hannibal was staring at him, looking starved, and Will gasped. His hand sped up.

“What did you see?”

“I saw _you_ , and I knew. Knew the sort of hunger she meant. I didn’t want to know…didn’t. Didn’t want to feel _good_ about it, didn’t want to feel – “ Will cut off with a cry as his back arched in pleasure. His toes curled against the floor and his hips bucked once, twice, and then he slumped bonelessly back into the seat, his mind blissfully blank.

When he came back to himself, Hannibal was gone. “Coward,” he muttered, but he couldn’t be sure which of them he was referring to.

~****~

After that, life got easier. Will cut back on the alcohol – being drunk wasn’t conducive to a good hunt. As he drank less, his work became better, and he was soon busy enough fixing boat motors that he found himself using less of the money that Hannibal had given him than he had since he’d moved. He began to believe that in a year or so he would be able to live solely on his own income. Even better, it gave him a good excuse to travel, and to be on his boat often, so he could pursue his other interests a little more freely. His mobility in both is shoulder and leg improved as well, as he now had good reason to keep himself in the best shape he was able.

He purchased a computer and began to look at news sites, always paying attention to the unsolved crimes section. It was a good system for finding a new target, and when he had picked the crime to be punished, it was a simple matter of doing his research, his gift often allowing him to find the perpetrator before the police were even close. Months passed, and though he didn’t get the itch often, when he felt it buzzing between his shoulder blades he always had plenty of opportunities to scratch it. His design evolved, and though he never put his kills on display the way that Hannibal always had he did take a perverse pleasure in using them for bait and tackle. He didn’t date, but he didn’t indulge himself in another fantasy like the first, on the boat. The lesson that he’d taught himself there had been learned well. It might feel good in the moment but it would only make him miss him more in the end, and Will already felt like a giant bruise for missing Hannibal. He didn’t need to make it worse.

He might have gone along indefinitely, fixing motors, fishing when he was restless and killing when he was restless in another way, but for his own curiosity. As he’d allowed himself to interact with the world he began to wonder what was going on in his old neck of it. Curiosity drove him to check out the Tattle Crime website off and on, and thus when Hannibal Lecter escaped the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane for the second time, Will was one of the first people south of Virginia to know about it.

At first he thought that he had read it wrong. He blinked, then blinked again, but no. The headline remained the same, the picture an old one from Hannibal’s first capture but the words brand new. The article screamed that the FBI had been lying to the public for years. Hannibal Lecter was alive, and well, and was out among the public once more. He’d escaped once again while being transferred into police custody, though Will doubted that security in the hospital had improved since Chilton had retaken the helm. Will read that he had been enlisted to help in the search for yet another serial killer, known for a long time only as Buffalo Bill, who kidnapped girls and skinned them. Under the guise of helping, he had managed to manipulate the situation enough to give himself the opening to strike. And strike he had.

Will wanted to feel queasy when reading what he had done to the guards and nurses on his way out of the hospital. The level of violence was excessive, even for what he knew Hannibal to be capable of, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He didn’t quite know what he was feeling, but he knew that it was far from horror. His felt almost removed from his own body. His vision swam.

“Breathe, Will,” Hannibal told him, putting a steadying hand on the back of his neck. “You must be calm for when Uncle Jack calls. You mustn’t let on that you already know.”

Will took a deep breath, then another. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of his breathing, on the hand at the back of his neck, until he stopped feeling like he was sliding out of his own skin.

Will would say this much for Jack Crawford: he didn’t waste time. Will read about Hannibal’s escape around seven thirty in the morning, and it was less than an hour later that the expected call came. Will didn’t recognize the number, but he knew who it was. There was only one person it could be.

Jack gave him the facts that Freddie Lounds hadn’t managed to dig up yet: Buffalo Bill’s name was Jame Gumb, he had been neutralized, and Frederick Chilton had fled in the wake of Hannibal’s escape. There were people all over Virginia who were seriously considering finding a way to take a long vacation, themselves. Hannibal had made a few promises to visit old friends, it seemed.

“They wouldn’t let me send someone to protect you,” Jack said, his voice tired, pale. “They think that Hannibal has moved on; that he won’t bother trying to find you.”

“And if they do, they have decided that I am an acceptable loss.” Will’s own voice was faint, but steady. Hannibal was alive. _Hannibal was alive_. His was nearly numb with shock; he couldn’t get his head around it. He’d been alive all of this time, and Jack…

Jack was saying something, but Will wasn’t listening. Bright, white anger filled him as it occurred to him that Jack had _lied_ , Jack and the FBI had let Will believe Hannibal was _dead_ , that Will had _killed_ him. Everything that Will had gone through – the guilt, the anger, missing Hannibal so badly he ached with it – it all could have been prevented. Well, perhaps not missing Hannibal, Will conceded with a wry twitch of his lips. He doubted he’d have been allowed to visit him, regardless.

“Will? You there?”

“Yes”

“Promise me you’ll be careful.”

Will’s clenched his jaw, released. Clenched and released. Forced himself to speak as though a mix of bitterness and anger – and excitement, he had to admit, excitement at the thought of Hannibal coming for him at last, whatever the end – wasn’t churning in his gut. “I’ll be just as careful as I always am when Hannibal is free in the world.”

“Will-“

“Did they let you protect your newest protégé? Whatever agent you were willing to sacrifice in the name of catching the bad guy?”

“…she has a detail.”

Will gave an unamused laugh, wishing that he were more surprised. “My God, Jack, you’ll never learn, will you? Setting us up and watching Hannibal knock us down. What scars has your new lure acquired, Jack? What scars is she going to acquire?”

“He wrote her a letter.”

Will blinked, his fury stalled by the non sequitur. “What?”

“Hannibal. He wrote her a letter. Promised he had no intention of coming for her. Asked her to write back. Seems he likes her, and wants to establish a line of communication. He written you, Will?”

Will sat down abruptly. “He…he wrote her? Wants her to keep in touch?” he asked, not even bothering to hide the crack in his voice. He didn’t need Jack’s answer. Of course Hannibal had turned his attention to Jack’s bright new lure. Will was broken, and scarred, and had tried to kill him. It was only natural that he would shift his attention elsewhere.

“My God. You’re disappointed, aren’t you? You’re actually upset that Lecter’s started focusing on someone new. Everyone else is terrified that he’ll pay them a visit, but you’re _hoping_ for one, aren’t you? Even though you know he’ll only be coming to kill you.”

“I did try to kill him first. It’s only fair he gets a shot.”

“He’s had his shot. He’s had plenty, or have you somehow managed to forget? Go stand in front of a mirror, perhaps it’ll refresh your memory.”

“I don’t need a mirror to remember.” Will shook his head. “Hannibal doesn’t have the same view of events as you do, Jack. He believes that I betrayed him, I’m sure, and if he wants to, he will have his revenge. Whatever that may be.” He hesitated. “Was he – did he say anything about coming for me? To kill me?” _Did he mention me at all?_

Jack was silent for so long that Will would have thought that the call had dropped, could he not hear him breathing. “Would it change things if he had?”

“I’d like to know if I should make myself presentable,” Will quipped with brittle cheer. “Hannibal would be disappointed if he came to kill me and I wasn’t at my best.”

“That’s not funny. No. He didn’t say anything about killing you. He never mentioned you at all, not once.”

Will closed his eyes. “Then I guess your superiors are right not to send anyone out here. He isn’t interested in finding me. Your detail on your new girl will probably find him; once Hannibal gets attached he doesn’t like to let go easily. I’d advise her against shooting him unless she actually means it; she points a gun at him and he’ll never go away. Goodbye, Jack.” And he hung up before Jack could say anything else. Dropping the phone on the floor, he curled in towards his knees as he ache inside his chest intensified. Hannibal was alive, and out in the world, and he didn’t want him. He had finally given up.

Will snorted humorlessly into his knees. It figured that when he was finally ready to accept Hannibal the way they’d both always wanted him to, Hannibal would lose all interest. He sat like that for a long time, ignoring the renewed ringing of his cell, and pretended that his body was shaking so hard due to hysterical laughter, instead of sobs.

~****~

Jack called off and on through the next month, but Will knew his number now and didn’t answer. He answered Alana only once, letting her vent her dismay about Hannibal’s escape and what it might mean for her and her family, but when she mentioned Jack he cut the conversation off and hung up. Once he calmed down he’d called back to secure a promise that she’d check in with him regularly. He didn’t want Alana dead, and if she didn’t check in he would worry.

He didn’t call Molly. He didn’t believe that Hannibal would go after her, and the last thing that he wanted to do was mess up her new life. So he left her alone, and prayed that it was the right choice.

Even though Jack had told him that he wasn’t considered important enough to watch after Hannibal’s escape, Will knew that they were there. There were eyes on his back more frequently than usual, strange faces in crowds that were turned towards him far too often for coincidence. Will didn’t mind. Hannibal wasn’t coming; they would soon figure that out and depart. He would be left to his own devices soon enough. He still didn’t have cable but he listened to the radio more often, and took to perusing cheap tabloids and even cheaper online articles in Tattle Crime. He had an idea that when the news broke Freddie Lounds would be the first to hear of it.

He wasn’t disappointed. Three months after his escape, Hannibal located and murdered Frederick Chilton once and for all. Frederick had done the smartest thing that he could and run, knowing that he had to be one of the people that Hannibal intended to call on. Not knowing anything about actually being on the run, he hadn’t covered his tracks well enough and Hannibal had found him. Hannibal had strung him up from the rafters of his own home, using tendon’s and the man’s guts to string him up, dangling him there like a puppet. Will read about it dispassionately. The fact that Frederick had survived as long as he did was remarkable, considering all that he had been through, but his luck had finally reached its end.

With such firm evidence that Hannibal was no longer in the country, the eyes on Will’s back disappeared. Jack stopped calling, and aside from the occasional call from Alana to inform him that she was still alive, Will was once again left to his own devices. He was grateful. There was an itch between his shoulders, a tug in the back of his brain that he’d been denying for weeks, and he was eager to scratch it.

He was careful, as he always. He’d scoped out the man months before, and had been about to make his move when Hannibal had escaped. He was now free to take care of business, however.

He was curious to see if he could handle this one. The man wasn’t actually a criminal; at least, not legally. He did everything right. Held a steady job, had a loving family, probably donated to charity for all Will knew. On the surface he was wonderful. He might not have caught Will’s attention at all but for the way he had treated the barista at a local coffee shop off of the pier. Will had stopped in after one of his long fishing trips. Normally he wouldn’t have – he didn’t want his face to be tied to anything around the pier – but on that particular day he had been exhausted and the trip home couldn’t wait, as he had an appointment the next day that he couldn’t miss. So he’d stopped in for coffee, determined to keep his head down and his scarred face as turned away as possible.

The shop had been crowded, loud, and obviously short staffed; the workers had been running themselves ragged trying to get everyone’s orders. Will accepted his paper cup of coffee with a quick smile and sipped, wincing at the burnt taste. He’d gone to the cream counter and dosed his coffee liberally with cream and sugar to make it bearable, and was just about to head out when the commotion had started.

First, the man had complained about the burnt taste of his drink, and then made the barista remake his order three times before he was satisfied. By the time he had his drink made to his satisfaction, the girl behind the counter was nearly crying. He had thanked her politely and turned away, but Will had seen the delight in his eyes. He’d wanted her to cry; had been hoping for it. Will slipped into his mindset without thinking about it, and he understood that making the girl cry had been his intent all along. He enjoyed tormenting people who couldn’t fight back, enjoyed forcing them to do his bidding and answer his unreasonable demands because he could. The more he could upset them, the better he felt. It satisfied something in him to demean other people. He needed them to know that they were nothing, and he was in control.

“What a horrible young man he is,” Hannibal had murmured, eyes narrowed. “Perhaps we might teach him some manners.”

Will hadn’t agreed right away, but he’d made note of the man almost without meaning to. It couldn’t hurt to check, he reasoned. Further checking had revealed exactly what Will had already known: a sadist who got his kicks mentally torturing others, rather than physically. His day was not complete unless he could demean someone else.

Still, Will wasn’t sure he could go through with it. Wasn’t sure he could find it within himself to kill someone without the hot burn of righteous anger. It was a test of his own limitations, his own capacity for violence. His Hannibal was eager for him to try it. That he thought he would succeed, Will was well aware. As the real Hannibal Lecter had remained elusive and his personal FBI detail had forced him to ignore his urge to rip into something, Will had begun to believe he might be right in that belief.

~****~

Ben Jones had expected to be alone for the evening. His wife had gone to her sister’s; a necessary evil that he was forced to allow every once in a while so that the nosey busybody would stay out of their lives. The last thing he needed was for that witch to stick her nose into his family business. Amber knew to keep her mouth shut and her head down, but her dear sister had never been taught, it seemed. Ben often thought that if he could get her into a room for just an hour, he could teach her a thing or two about talking back to her betters, but that would probably never happen. Amber, smart girl, was very careful to keep the two of them apart as often as possible.

He thought that he might invite someone over for the night. Lisa from the office was practically gagging for it; even though he often wanted to slap her he had controlled himself enough in her presence that she thought he liked her, and he knew it wouldn’t take much to persuade her to come by. Give her a little wine, a little sweet talk, and they would soon end up in bed. Wouldn’t be the first time. Ben knew how to utilize these weekends.

He was pondering this as he went to the fridge to grab a beer, so he didn’t notice the man sitting at his table until he turned around, and then he nearly dropped his beer in surprise. The man sat there calmly, with what appeared to be a half smile on his face. It wasn’t until Ben flipped on the dining room light that he realized that the man wasn’t smiling; what he had taken for an upward tilt of his mouth was actually the result of a long, ugly scar on his cheek, which was just visible under a thick beard. He had curly, unkempt hair and eyes that appeared to be lit with some kind of mirth. Ben had never seen him before.

“Hi there,” the man said brightly, and Ben blinked.

“How did you get in here?”

The man smiled. “Oh, I have my ways.” He put up a hand and wiggled the fingers almost playfully, and Ben noticed that he was wearing gloves. The first real trickle of unease went up his spine.

“Well, you weren’t invited, so I’ll thank you to get out,” he said, aiming for furious and coming off frightened. He hated the weak sound of his own voice.

“Well, now, I don’t think I can do that just yet,” the man said, smile widening. The scar on his face made the grin look unusually large, and Ben went from uneasy to terrified so quickly he felt queasy with it. The man stood, and Ben backed up instinctively, then stepped forward to compensate. He wouldn’t be intimidated by this son of a bitch, this loser with the scarred face who seemed to think that he could just waltz in here…and how did he get in? Ben had locked the doors, he knew he had. Had he picked the locks?

“I can’t leave right now,” the man continued, moving towards Ben as he spoke, “because my work here isn’t finished. You’re an awful person; you know that, right? You delight in making people feel small. Well now it’s your turn.”

 _Fuck this_ , Ben thought, and smashed his bottle of beer against the counter. Beer spilled out and foamed everywhere, dripping off of the counter and puddling around his feet. He brandished the bottle at the man in front of him. “I’m only going to say this one more time, you freak. Get the fuck out or else.”

The man raised a dark eyebrow, his face a picture of amusement. “Or else what?” he asked, tilting his head curiously. “Do you really think that you can take us both with that bottle?”

His eyes flicked over Ben’s shoulder. Ben turned before he thought about it, and of course there was no one there. Before he could turn back around, there was the sound of footsteps, then something smashed into his head and Ben Jones ceased to know anything at all.

~****~

Will looked at the mess on the kitchen floor with disgust. “Broke his bottle on the counter,” he said incredulously, rolling his eyes. “What did he think he was going to do with that?”

“Gut you, perhaps,” Hannibal answered, laughter in his voice. “Cut your throat, possibly just stab you with it a few times, thinking that would be enough to make you stop. He saw you and assumed that he could beat you. People underestimate you so very often.”

“You were one of them.”

Hannibal smiled. “Indeed. And you always managed to surprise.”

Will shook his head. “Let’s just get him out of here, so I can start cleaning up.”

After, he spent a few hours on his boat, fishing, then cleaned his catch and headed for home. He was tired and sore, and he was looking forward to taking a hot shower and collapsing. He was so intent on his goal of shower and sleep that he nearly missed the man sitting on his couch. As it was he was almost past the room when it registered what he was seeing out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, backed up a bit, and flicked on the light, eyebrows going up in surprise.

“Good evening, Will.”

“Hello, Hannibal.”

Will stared at Hannibal, all thoughts of a shower gone from his mind as if they had never existed to begin with. “You’re supposed to be in Jamaica,” he said stupidly, then shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth.

Hannibal’s lips twitched. “Am I?” he asked, tone lightly mocking, “I was not aware.” A slight pause, then, “You mean Dr. Chilton, I presume. Dear Frederick and I shared one last meal together, but I am afraid that I couldn’t stay as long as I might have wished. Still, it wasn’t an altogether unpleasant experience.”

“You killed Chilton to draw attention away from me.” Will shook his head and entered the living room, sinking onto the couch next to Hannibal. “Are you here to kill me, too?”

Hannibal glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Do you wish me to?”

Will huffed out a laugh and ran a hand over his face, closing his eyes. “I used to, sometimes, when I thought you were dead,” he replied. “At this moment, not really. Does that make a difference?”

“You tried to kill me, Will. You tried to kill us both. You survived, while I was as good as dead in a prison of Chilton’s making. Do I not owe you a debt?”

“If we’re tallying up the times we’ve tried to kill each other, you might…owe me more than one, actually.” Will leaned his head back on the couch, eyes still closed. “Or I might owe you. All the times we’ve tried to kill each other have blurred in my memory.”

“Do you want to kill me?”

“Not particularly. The last time I truly wanted to kill you I was shot for trying.” Will shook his head. “And even then I’m not sure I would have been able to go through with it.”

“And yet you managed to go through with it after we defeated the Dragon.”

Will opened his eyes. He turned his head on the couch and met Hannibal’s gaze. “That was different; we were supposed to die together. I knew that if I didn’t kill you I would become you, but I couldn’t live without you, either.” He gave a wry smile. “Of course, it went completely wrong, as all my best plans tend to do.” He reached out a trembling hand and touched Hannibal’s cheek; Hannibal closed his eyes. “Bedelia once asked me if I ached for you,” he confided in a low voice, tracing the familiar face with fingers that refused to stop shaking, “and I never answered her, but I think she knew the answer was yes. I couldn’t let myself admit it, though, until I thought you were dead. Until I had no way to get rid of it, no way to make it easier to bear. Do you want to kill me, Hannibal?”

Hannibal reached up, fingers closing over the ones on his face. He twined them together and lowered them to his lap, his eyes opening to meet Will’s. “No,” he answered, voice soft. “I thought I was going to, when I came here. I thought it was my only choice. But now…will you come with me, darling boy? Will you abandon this life and begin a new one by my side?”

Will swallowed. His throat clicked. “Yes,” he whispered, squeezing Hannibal’s hand. He waited for the remorse, the sense that he had let something irretrievable go, and felt only bone deep relief. He smiled.

Hannibal stood, pulling Will up with him. “Then come,” he said. “We must go now. Soon enough the authorities will realize that I have left Jamaica. They will look here first.”

Will allowed himself to be pulled. “Will they?” he asked. “I thought they might look in Virginia, first. Jack said you liked the woman he sent to you.”

Hannibal smiled. “I did like her. She was young, with a little taste, and big eyes that hadn’t yet seen the worst of the world. She was like a small kitten batting at string; she will grow to be a magnificent lion.”

Will looked down at the floor. “So why are you here?” he demanded, hating the jealousy twisting his guts at Hannibal’s fond tone when speaking of Jack’s newest protégé. “If she’s so wonderful, why did you come to me?”

A hand cupped his cheek and forced him to look back up. Hannibal was smiling at him with such fondness it almost hurt to look at him. His thumb stroked the long scar on Will’s face almost absently. “Because it is you that I want,” he said. “Clarice is lovely; she is one of those delightful people who makes the world more interesting just by being alive in it. But she is not you. Perhaps in another life, one where you did not exist, or we had never been friends, she would have been the one that I went to. But we are in this life. Now, get your things. I have one more stop to make before we leave the country and we have to hurry.” His smile turned dangerous. “There is another friend that I would like to pay a visit.” He removed his hand from Will’s cheek and gave him a light push.

Still Will resisted. “If I go with you, I have two conditions.”

“Only two?”

Will nodded. Hannibal raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Molly. And Alana.”

“I will not harm your ex-wife, Will. You have my word.”

Will clenched his jaw and raised his chin defiantly. He planted his feet on the floor. “Alana, too. Promise me.”

“I made Alana a promise already. She ensured her death when she chose to ignore my advice and be brave. She has been dead since then, and there is nothing that can be done to change that.”

“No. I refuse to believe that. This teacup hasn’t been broken, Hannibal. It can be left untouched. You seduced her, used her, and then tried to kill her and everyone she cared about. Don’t you think that’s enough?”

Hannibal’s mouth tightened into a thin, displeased line. “You would have me go back on my word? Have her alive in the world, knowing that I had broken my promise?”

Will took a deep breath, then shook his head. “No. I wouldn’t have you do that. I’m not saying that we let her know that you won’t go after her. Let her be afraid, let her constantly check over her shoulder to make sure that you aren’t behind her. Let her live with the knowledge that you could visit her table at any moment, only let her _live_.” _I am so sorry, Alana. But better you get some sort of life than none at all. Better that you and Margot not become Hannibal’s next meal. Better that your son be able to grow up with both of his parents._

Hannibal considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. It will be as you say. But if she comes after us, her life will once again become forfeit.”

Will bit his lip. “Fair enough.” He didn’t think that she would come after them. She had too much to lose. She had to know that to pursue them would only mean her death. If she didn’t, he would find a way to make her know it.

“Are those the only two conditions?” and now there was amusement coloring Hannibal’s voice. “No bargains for Jack or Bedelia?”

“You’re not going to go after Jack. It’s more fun for you if he’s alive, knowing that you – _we_ – are alive and well, doing what we like, and he has no chance of catching us again.” Will’s mouth twisted. “And as for Bedelia, she knew what she was getting into. If she was half as smart as she thinks she is she’d be long gone by now. If she chose not to run then she deserves whatever happens to her.”

Hannibal laughed, delighted. “That is why I adore you, my Will. You always manage to surprise me.” He cupped Will’s face in both hands and leaned close enough that their lips brushed lightly with each word he spoke. “Will you help me, then, when the time comes? Will you dine with me once more?”

This time, there was no hesitation. “Yes,” Will whispered, and closed the final distance between them.

~****~

_She floated. Half in, half out of consciousness, she drifted on a sea of confusion, not quite knowing where she was or even when she was, only understanding that she was afraid. There was something wrong with her, something she couldn’t quite grasp. She didn’t want to grasp it. She wanted to float._

_Phantom pain in her body; a throbbing ache. It wasn’t enough to pull her out of the fog, but it was enough to keep her from sinking fully, much as she wanted to._

_There was a voice, relentless, calling her to wake. She fought it. Waking meant realizing what had happened to her, what was_ still _happening to her, and she didn’t want to know._ Please, _she thought hazily at the voice,_ please don’t make me wake. Let me sleep through it, please, oh please.

_The voice did not listen. It kept calling to her, over and over, forcing her to waken fully, forcing her to open her eyes._

She succumbed. She opened her eyes, and a fuzzy head came into view. She frowned in confusion, and then blinked. The fuzziness went away and resolved into a face she knew.

“There you are,” Will Graham smiled. He looked nothing like the man she had seen when he had told her of his plan to release Hannibal from his glass prison. He had put on a bit of weight, and his face was relaxed, happy. Comfortable in a way that she had never seen him. “I was afraid you were going to sleep through our meal. That would have been very impolite, don’t you agree? Especially after we’ve gone to all this trouble to have you for dinner.” His eyes sparkled. “I think you’ll like what’s on the menu. Just sit tight here for a couple of minutes while we bring the rest out, okay? Don’t fall asleep, now.” He chuckled, then strode away from her, whistling to himself.

Bedelia looked around. She was seated at the table, in a gown that she had never seen before, one cut far lower than anything she might have purchased for herself, and in front of her was a long roast tied in banana leaves, gently releasing steam into the air. Bedelia stared at it in something like horror, understanding the pain now. She did not look down. Without looking away from what she knew was her own leg, she reached out and grasped at the fork next to her plate, slowly bringing it down beside her and vowing to stick it into Will Graham’s eye when he came back to the table.

“Naughty.” A reproving voice said from behind her, and before she could so much as twitch her arm up her wrist was grabbed and twisted; the fork fell from nerveless fingers as she gasped in pain.

Hannibal sighed and bent down to pick it up. He showed it to her. “Was this meant for me, or for Will?” he asked curiously. She said nothing, and he sighed again. “I honestly thought that you would have better manners than that, Bedelia,” he said, shaking his head in mock sadness, but she saw the delight behind it. He liked that she was fighting; it amused him to witness her fruitless struggle against what he and Will were going to do to her.

She glared with as much hatred as she could manage in her drugged state, but he didn’t notice. He was looking over her shoulder, expression adoring, and she knew that Will had entered the room. The old bitterness filled her, and she looked down at her plate, not wanting to see.

There was a click as Will set a dish down. “It smells delicious,” he said. “I can’t wait to try it.” There came the sound of a chair being moved, then the soft noises of Will settling into it. “I’m starved.”

Hannibal chuckled indulgently and moved away from Bedelia. “Then I suppose I should begin serving.” She raised her eyes to see him cutting into the meat, slicing it and putting it on plates, which he then distributed around the table. Bedelia stared down at her plate, revulsion turning her stomach. Hannibal was speaking about how he’d cooked it and probably providing a bit of trivia as was his wont, but she barely heard him. She was too busy contemplating whether or not she could actually stick a piece of herself into her mouth, chew and swallow. Perhaps refusing to do so would make them kill her faster?

Will let out an appreciative noise. Bedelia looked up to watch him swallow the piece of meat he’d been chewing and send a smitten smile Hannibal’s way. “This tastes absolutely wonderful,” he said, then turned to Bedelia, the smile widening into a grin. The scar that ran from the corner of his mouth made that grin look even more sinister than Will probably intended. Bedelia shivered, and Will’s smile widened. “Bon appetit.”

**Author's Note:**

> From prompt located here: http://hannibalkink.dreamwidth.org/4963.html?thread=8304995#cmt8304995
> 
> Will throws them off the cliff and during the fall injures his head. When he wakes up he is in hospital. He is told that he was in coma for months and that Hannibal was found dead. Will tries to move on but can't. He can't even tell anyone how devastated he is because to everybody else Hannibal was a monster.  
> In truth Hannibal is alive and incarcerated, but Jack knows about Will's feelings for Hannibal and thinks it's better for Will to think he is dead (anyway by the time Will wakes up from coma mass media already forgets the Ripper case and Jack knows Will is not going to check old newspapers. If Will asks where Hannibal's grave is, Jack can say Hannibal was cremated)  
> Bonus points if one day someone asks Will something about Hannibal and to their shock Will just bursts into tears. More bonus points if Hannibal escapes and the reunion happens.
> 
> Please, do let me know what you think!


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